


Fix My Eyes

by JennaGill



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fishing, Humor, preppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:30:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaGill/pseuds/JennaGill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Katniss Everdeen takes the Mellark brothers on a charter to remember and can’t help but fall for the youngest that dresses better than he fishes. Rated M for language and sex stuff. Written for Round 2: Everlark AU – Prompt: 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins with lyrics borrowed from For King & Country and The Lonely Island. Much appreciation goes to Areyouserial, HGRomance, and Court81981 for thoughts, construction, and editing. Thank you ladies for helping me raise roe into a great catch.

Katniss

The crunching hits my ears before I even know he’s beside me.

“You all set to take my charter this weekend, Kat?” Finnick asks upon approach, his sea green eyes sparkling as he pops another sugar cube in his mouth. “I hate to leave you high and dry, but this is something that I need to take care of and it’ll take a three-day weekend starting tomorrow,” he says.

“Is that an oral fixation or a sweet tooth issue? I’ve always wondered why you keep bowls of those things around our shop,” I say, deflecting the question.

“Oh… a little of both I guess. When I see something sweet, I just want to grab it quick,” he describes. His tall, athletic frame is taking up most of the doorway and blocking my escape from the gear closet of the boat shop. 

“Well, that explains the name of the boat. Also why I overhear so many ladies talking about you,” I tease. “Seems like you go through about four or five a season, right?” No one seems to hold Finnick’s favor for long.

“But what it doesn’t explain, dear Katniss,“ he says, drawing out the end of my name in a hiss, “is why I don’t ever hear about you hooking up with anyone else,” he continues.

“Well, I’m not the local sex symbol with golden skin and a trident, so what could I possibly offer them?” I return, tipping my head to the wall where his prized possession is mounted, won in a tournament ten years ago.

Finnick wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue, it must drive all the local and tourist girls crazy.

"That doesn’t work on me, remember? I didn’t take the bait,” I remind him. It’s probably the best piece of evidence as to why we do work so well together, that as gorgeous as he is, I’m immune to his charms. I can honestly tell myself that he’s not attractive to me. Maybe it’s because he’s too attractive, or too easy to get, or that he’d be just too easy to lose.

“Well, plenty of lovely ladies have, and they all ask me all sorts of questions about my ally,” he reports. “‘Is she into girls? Is she asexual? Why does she wear boy’s shorts?”

I’m taken aback by the idle gossip and the dig at my clothes. “Oh don’t you know? I’m an open book. Other people seem to know my secrets before I know them myself,“ I say with more than a hint of sarcasm. That’s why I had to leave District 12, and why I) rarely reveal myself to others, because the last one got too close.

It’s also why we make such a good team, because I’m the only female in a 100-mile radius that doesn’t want to sleep with Finnick Odair. Our partnership is based on mutual trust, understanding, and playing to our strengths. I grew up fishing with my dad at our lake and bow hunting in the forest; surf fishing reminds me of him. Finnick was raised on the coast. He takes more of the boat charters and I book bow hunting trips in the cooler months to keep our business afloat.

“Unfortunately, I think that’s true,” Finnick says as he grants me egress from the closet.

“The answer is simple,” I call out to his backside. “There’s no one here in District 4 that I want to kiss.” I busy myself and my thoughts by arranging and rearranging the gear on the shelves. It’s true though; there hasn’t been a single soul that has made me think twice in the five years I’ve been here and Finnick’s partner.

“Well, look at you, being all withholding,” he jests. “Seriously, though, are you good for that group?” he asks from the other room. 

“It’s just the one, on Saturday right? Three guys, inshore?” I recall, as I begin to mentally catalog what I’ll stock the boat with for the trip on my free day tomorrow.

“Yep, just the one. Make sure you load the Sarge custom rods with Abu Garcia Ora inshore reels,” he advises. “I should be back on Monday, and you know you can always call me,” he says.

“Do they want to use plastics or croaker?” I ask, calculating the time I’d need to get to the shrimper for live croaker on Saturday morning. Wouldn’t do any good to get them today.

“Oh, I doubt they know. Sounded pretty clueless. Like a bunch of frat boys or brothers,” he says. “They put their deposit down and are aware they can bring whatever on the boat to eat and drink.”

“Great…” I say with an edge of bitterness. I mostly prefer surf fishing to fishing from the boat, especially when the charter is full of novices. My patience usually turns red-hot on the boat and it’s no place to be for a girl on fire.

“It’s good money though, all day charter like that. Check the charter notes, it might say—otherwise, it’s best to go with croaker. You can give yourself the rest of the weekend off after that. Just remember our number-one rule,” he says.

“And what’s that, Captain?” I bite

“No sex on the boat,“ he says, deadpan.

He saunters away with a retort left hanging on my lips. There’s no need to worry about sex if there isn’t even anyone I want to kiss. 

Peeta

The sound of seagulls stirs me awake before dawn. Stretching out on a lumpy mattress just won’t do, so I ease out of bed to awaken my tired body. Driving six hours from District 13 to the coast will do that to you, especially with your two brothers—one more rowdy than the other is dull. Still, I’m here to have a good time with both of them. It’ll be a long weekend and I’m lucky to have secured the time away from work. I’m actually glad Rye suggested it and that Bran set it all up for us. I’m just along for the ride, ordered to keep the peace between one dick brother and one stick in the mud. I gather up some clothing, my Sperrys, and head towards the back door. 

I step out onto the rear deck of our rental and the few stairs until I reach the sand. It’s hard packed and easy to cross. We’ll be here for three more nights, last night being our first, and we really didn’t explore, pretty much just crashed in our rooms upon arrival. I think Rye wanted to drink beer all night, but he was out voted. 

I look out across the horizon and see calm waters at the first hint of sunrise. It eases my fears about all of the boating over the next few days.

The last five years have been hard but have influenced me to take more chances, to not waste time, to help people out, and to accept invitations—like this trip I normally wouldn’t take with my brothers. My oldest brother is very serious about fishing. I know for a fact that Rye is here just to drink beer. I feel useless on a boat, but I’ll be trying to learn.

Sometimes it seems like I’m starting over at 25, but each day is an opportunity to take the road less travelled. To walk the walk that I’m supposed to walk.

As I approach the water, I spot a woman with a braid over her shoulder fishing in the waves. She’s backlit by a golden sky, giving her a glow. I can’t see her face, but her posture indicates that she’s enjoying a quiet sunrise on the beach. I can hear her humming to herself softly over the waves. I’m mesmerized by the soothing tune. She begins to sing and even the seagulls stop their squawking to listen to her. I can only catch words here and there, a valley, a meadow…

I’m snapped out of my daydream by the sound of footsteps behind me.

“Just couldn’t sleep, could you?” Bran asks.

“No, I’m just eager to get the day started. Are you ready to go sailing offshore?” I ask, turning my head back for once last glance. The girl is still singing and focused on fishing.

“Yeah, it’s been years for me—what about you?” Bran asks, oblivious to my split attention span.

“I guess since before…,” and I don’t need to finish. He knows.

“It’s still technically a weekday, even it’s a Friday, so there should be less boating traffic up and down the coast,” Bran reassures me.

I keep an eye on the beach all day, looking for the woman with a braid.

Katniss

It’s 6:10am and my charter group is late to meet me at the marina on Saturday. I’m getting out my phone to text the provided contact number when three blond guys approach the dock. They must be brothers, all of them having the same ashy blond hair, blue eyes, and similar facial features. Two of them are tall and the third is medium height and stocky. 

"Excuse me, are you Captain Finnick, of Rod & Bow Guide Services?” one of the tall brothers asks another fisherman on the dock.

“Naw, you want her,” the man says, crooking his thumb at me. I shake my head and school my features into a customer-ready smile as they get closer. Two of the faces are etched in confusion, no doubt expecting Finnick, and the third just looks shocked.

“Oh, it’s you,” I catch from the shorter brother but do not have time to ask what he means because the tallest of the bunch extends his hand.

“I’m Bran Mellark, and I booked with Captain Finnick Odair, but you don’t look like Finnick,” he says as I shake his hand, disregarding the shorter one’s outburst while the third grunts.

“Captain Katniss Everdeen,” I confirm. “Finnick and I are both licensed professional fishing guides here in District 4. He’s had a minor emergency take him out of the picture this weekend, so I’m in the captain’s seat in his absence,” I assure him.

“And you’re quite capable?” he asks.

I can’t stop a scowl from spreading across my face as the other member of their party steps forward and slaps Bran on the back.

“She said she was a professional, Bran, I’m sure she’ll be fine – though it would be a lot better if she was in an itty bitty bikini. Hi there, I’m Rye Mellark,” he introduces, quite proud of himself. He’s not as tall as Bran but any feature that might have been attractive would be outweighed by his mouth.

I’m dressed practically for a day on the water and would never conceive of fishing or guiding in a bikini, thank you very much—even if the back of the boat does read Something Sweet. And I’m quite used to dealing with dicks on this vessel.

“And I’m Peeta Mellark,” says the last one, surging in front of Rye, effectively blocking out the daggers I’m throwing at Rye with my eyes. “You’ll have to excuse him, he doesn’t usually start insulting women this early in the day,” he jokes. 

I nod and lift up the seat directly in front of the center console. “I’ve already stocked this with some water, but you can load in anything else and there are other waterproof compartments under the seats near the bow,” I direct, ending any further commentary. The brothers load onto the boat with their groceries and I start up the engine, the 225hp outboard roaring to life.

The day starts off rough. Two out of the three are terrible at fishing, when the fish are biting. The oldest, as I come to find out more about them is decent at casting and reeling, but much too stiff. The jerk middle brother isn’t even trying to fish; he’s more concerned with jokes and draining beer cans. The youngest though, is utterly hopeless at this. He’s a total preppy, from his ball cap and aviators to his relaxed cotton shirt down to his Sperry shoes. It is odd that he’s wearing the lightweight fishing pants while his brothers are in swim shorts and tank tops. Maybe it’s just part of his preppy code. It’s not my thing, but I have to admit that he wears it well, even if he can’t fish worth a damn.

The morning wears on into lunchtime. While Bran has had a few bites and has managed to reel in one redfish, Rye has figured out casting on an open reel, and Peeta still gets tangled. If he wasn’t so apologetic about it, I might be getting irked by now. Usually my charters have casting down by midday, so there’s still time yet for him.

“I’m on a boat, I’m on a boat,” Rye starts singing in a conversation lull.

Bran rolls his eyes. “Not again.”

“It’s a big, blue watery road….yeah,” Rye continues, painfully out of tune.

“C’mon man, yesterday was bad enough. Do you really have to sing Lonely Island again?” Peeta asks with annoyance laced in his tone.

“Believe me when I say, I fucked a mermaid,” Rye croons.

“Alright, that’s enough, stop,” Bran commands and it seems to work on Rye.

We skip around to a few different reefs, looking for the hot spots that haven’t already been found by other groups. Luckily, Rye doesn’t start singing again. Like I haven’t heard that one a million times from other charters.

I run the boat on full throttle in between spots and the brothers all take seats. Bran occupies himself with checking his mobile phone, Rye reaches for another beer, and Peeta, he just hangs on to his hat. I look out across the water and my view narrows to Peeta’s large hands gripping his cap, his plaid shirt yielding to his flexing biceps, and ashy blond curls escaping confinement. This is the third time I’ve caught myself sneaking a peek at him. Despite what the townies think, I do find men attractive but do not want to open myself up to the hassle and heartbreak.

I gnaw on my lip for a moment and ponder what it is about Peeta that keeps catching my eye. The guy I left behind in D12 was 6 foot 4 version of me while this one in front of me is the embodiment of sunshine. Maybe tall, dark, and handsome isn’t my type any more than Finnick is, sensuous, amazing physical specimen that he is. Maybe I’m into preppy. 

As if he can read my mind, he turns to me and offers a sweet smile. Damn, his lips are starting to look kissable too. This can’t end well. I shake my head of these thoughts and notice that we’ve arrived at our next reef.

I drop the anchor and get Bran and Rye set up on the starboard side and then Peeta on the port.

“I know what it is, Katniss. I’m used to freshwater fishing and closed reels,” Peeta begins. “I don’t have to keep my fingers this way or that with those, just push the button and it’s good to go,” he says.

I nod, when I want to disagree that I was able to transition over just fine, but I try to be kind. “Yes, it’s a different skill set all together,” I confirm as I attached a croaker to his hook. “So remember, let the line out, put the line around your pointer finger here, and tip it back…:”

“Like this?” he asks hopefully as he angles the rod back.

“Yes, that’s—”

“AAAAARGH! What the fuck, man?” Rye exclaims, with Peeta’s hook in his shirt and the croaker still on the line. I can’t help but laugh. Rye’s face is full of surprise and Peeta is blushing. It’s endearing really. I unhook Rye from Peeta’s line and try another tactic.

“Okay, Peeta, we’re going to try something different,” I start.

“No more casting for me?” he states.

“Well, for starters—you’ll all be on the same side of the boat, so go up to the platform on the bow and I’ll cast for you,” I direct. He gets up there and waits for my next instruction after the line is in the water.

“Fix your eyes on the water, where the line breaks the surface—there,” I point. “When it jumps—that’s your signal right before you feel the pull,” I explain.

“The pull of what?” he asks, peeling off his sunglasses to look me in the eye. I’m holding the rod while he has his hands on the reel, and we’re standing impossibly close. Close enough to count his freckles and notice his long golden eyelashes.

“The fish on the line,” I manage, startled by the intensity in his gaze. He flashes me another smile and puts his aviators back on, to focus on the water. I blink a few times and return to the task at hand.

Bran and Rye catch even more speckled trout at the next spot. I pull out the big orange pliers to hold up each of catches for photos. Some are impressive, some aren’t any better than bait fish, but they seem pleased with themselves.

I continue to notice little things about Peeta the rest of the day, like the way he always encourages his brothers and how he’s the first to offer high-fives on their catches.

In the heat of the afternoon, the brothers strip off their tanks and jump in the water before we head back into shore.

“You aren’t going to join them?” I ask Peeta, while securing the gear so nothing goes flying when we head to the marina.

Peeta takes off his sunglasses again and shrugs. “No, I’m good,” he says evasively.

“You can swim though, right? I’d have to put you in a life vest otherwise, rules of the sea n’all,” I joke trying to get a better answer.

“Ahhh, yes I can swim. I usually don’t lay this on new people, but as you can see….” Peeta lifts left his pant leg to show me why he’s not joining them. A metal-and-plastic device has replaced the flesh of his lower leg. “I didn’t really bring my sea legs today,” he explains.

I stifle a gasp a little too late and he drops his pant leg to cover his prosthesis. I would have never guessed, given how well he has moved around on the boat all day. His limp would have been concealed by the waves anyway. My heart goes out to him, for his pain, for any loss that went with this injury. 

“Yeah, it’s a lot to take in. My leg was pretty mangled in a motorcycle accident five years ago. I lost a lot of blood, then an infection set in and they had to take it,” he says.

“Are you okay with this heat today? I mean, is it uncomfortable?” I ask with an urge to redeem myself.

“I’m fine – I’m learning how to fish in the bay by the best guide on the water,” he says lightly.

“Well, we can at least dip a toe in the water. That might cool us off a little,” I suggest and smile. 

I sit with him on the edge so that he’s not alone.

“I’d like to hear your best fishing story,” he requests and I can’t help but oblige him while his brothers splash around for another ten minutes.

I relay my first trip out on the boat and he nods along when I share some of the difficulties I had with an open reel. I embellish some of it for his benefit, okay most of it. The more I talk, which still rare for me, the more he smiles, and the more I like it. I reach the end of my six pound trout story and he’s staring at me, mesmerized. 

Once back on board, the brothers offer to treat me to a beer back at the marina.

“Is it true? That they’ll prepare our haul anyway we want it?” Bran asks. 

“You hook it, they’ll cook it” I say. 

I get them to take a group photo with their catches back at the marina. It’s marketing for our business as much as it’s a memento for the paying customer, or so I tell myself. It has nothing to do with wanting to sneak a peek at Peeta days from now. We line up shoulder to shoulder, arranged so that he’s standing next to me. I’m immediately aware of how strong and stocky his body is when we throw our arms around each other. This proximity also brings my own body odor to my attention. I’m usually not this self-conscious around other clients, so I shy away immediately after another fisherman takes the photos. I make an excuse about having to clean the speckled trout and redfish anyway. Peeta offers to help clean the fish since he was so helpless on the boat. I allow it. I tell him I’ll get showered up for just one beer after cleaning the fish in comfortable silence.

Well—not exactly. My body seemed to scream each time we accidentally rubbed against each other’s arms. Or when I handed him the knife and my fingers brushed against his.

After the fish are cleaned and on their way to the kitchen, I run across the street to my place for a quick shower. It’s pretty common for the clients to invite me to dine with them, but I usually do not go to the effort to freshen up this much. I towel off to throw on a tank dress and flip flops, braiding my wet hair back and out of the way.

I return to the grill just as their food is being served to the counter.

“Damn, Everdeen, you clean up good,” Rye guffaws, still grimy from the day, and adds, “Can I interest you in an oyster?”

“That’s still Captain Everdeen to you, sailor,” I fire back. “And no – I’ll catch and spear fish, gather shellfish, dive for oysters with Finnick all day, but that’s the one thing I can’t stand to eat – I can’t get past the sliminess,” I state, to his obvious disappointment. I’ve only warmed up to Rye a degree or two since his poor first impression. 

I’m relieved when Peeta comes back into view, fresh from a shower himself. He must have brought a change of clothes with him and used the marina shower. He has on an indigo Polo shirt, khaki shorts, one of those ridiculous anchor canvas belts, and a fleece jacket. I want to roll my eyes at his popped collar, but appreciate the effort to pull himself together. He grabs a barstool and I slide in next to him. I breathe him in and he smells good, like cinnamon somehow.

“Well, what does the lady want?” Peeta asks, his mouth quirked to the side.

“Oh, a beer is fine, whatever you’re having,” I say, kind of curious as to what he’ll order.

“Two IPAs please,” he requests. “I ordered your fish grilled. I hope you don’t mind,” he says as the food and beers are placed in front of us.

I scrunch up my nose ever so slightly, thinking that it’s good I’ll only stay for one or two. I take a sip and it’s not that bad. We dig into our meals, famished from the day. The trout is cooked to perfection and the sides of hushpuppies and French fries help to fill me up.

After the meal is done and I’m into my second beer, I swivel in my chair. I accidentally swipe past his thigh with mine, and search for a safe conversational topic.

“Do you often join your clients?” he starts, thankfully.

“Sometimes. It depends on my schedule and the client,” I say, trying to remain neutral.

“You’re such a bad liar, Katniss.” He begins to mimic me, “You’re doing so much better. It’s a different skill set. It depends on the client.”

“Hey, I can handle myself,” I say, half amused and half annoyed at being caught in a lie. I take a swig of beer to calm my nerves, next to this man that can read me so well. 

“I can see that. Tell me how you landed here then,” he requests as he tips the can to his lips.

“I had to get away from District 12, so I opted for the sun and sand. I met Finnick my first weekend here.” I pause and notice that the outside of our thighs are grazing each other’s again. I clear my throat and continue. “All too soon I found that this town has a way of collecting residents between the beautiful views, charming shop owners, and steady stream of wealthy tourists,” I say, tilting my head to him.

He gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. It’s getting late, but I’d like to get him away from his brothers to talk with him just a little bit more. 

“Do you want to see the roof? It’s quieter up there and I think there’s a fire pit,” I say.

“Sure, I don’t think they’ll miss me down here. Lead the way,” he says as we rise up from the barstools, grabbing two more beers before we head upstairs.

We settle into the deck chairs and resume our conversation.

“So you’ve been guiding for five years. How did it all start?” he asks.

“When I first arrived here, not sure of what I was doing or how long I’d stay, Finnick laid it on pretty thick. He grew up here and put himself through college guiding fishermen and making a name for himself. He made it sound pretty easy, and being who he is, Finnick is not to be ignored. And I like to team up with people of use to me.

“Sounds like a strategic move,” Peeta says.

“By the end of that first night, I started thinking Finnick Odair was all right. At least not as vain or self-important as I’d originally thought,” I muse.

“And how has it been since then?” Peeta asks.

“After that, we would trade hours of archery instruction for fishing and trident lessons. He’s pretty handy with tying knots, weaving nets, as well as wielding spears and knives,” I continue, thinking that I sure am chatty tonight or chattering. I’ve been so lost in my story that I haven’t noticed that the breeze picked back up on the roof. 

“You’re shivering,” he points out. “We can go back downstairs if you’d like,” he offers.

“No, it’s nice up here and we can start a fire,” I return, not ready to go back down into the crowd.

He smiles and takes off his jacket to wrap it around me before setting to work on the fire pit. I admire the view and take another sip, hoping the alcohol will heat me from the inside while Peeta’s fuzzy fleece warms up my skin. I get another whiff of the cinnamon scent I caught earlier and somehow don’t think that came from the L.L. Bean warehouse.

Peeta’s a whiz with the fire, coaxing a blaze out the damp wood.

“All stuff you needed to know as his partner, no doubt,” Peeta continues from our earlier discussion. I’m startled by the intensity in his expression.

“Yeah, when he first brought me on, I found it challenging to be taken seriously. Fishing is undisputedly a male-dominated sport, and though it can be frustrating, I find it fun and rewarding to achieve the same results as the guys, if not better,” I say with an air of superiority. “The longer I’ve spent on the water, the more credibility I earn. I’m happy to receive the respect that follows…like with your brothers today,” I note.

“Oh yes, you had my respect right away but they were a little harder on you,” he says. “They’ve always been like that. Rye is somewhat offensive. Bran is distant, but not as rude,” Peeta explains.

“Then if you don’t mind my asking, why vacation with them?” I ask, turning my body into his.

“Well, since the accident and everything afterwards, I’ve just been more inclined to spend more time with them, help others, seize opportunities, pay it forward type stuff,” he says as the firelight flickers off his blue eyes.

“Live like there’s no tomorrow?” I ask and tilt my head, itching to brush the hair away from his eyes. It strikes me that Peeta is the open book, not me. He’s out there, living his life, while I’ve been shutting most people out of mine. 

“Absolutely, life is too short,” he says, drawing closer. 

“And there isn’t anyone else you’d rather get away with?” I ask quietly and bite my lip.

He startles at the bluntness of my question. I am too, frankly. What is it about this guy that makes me so curious? I stand up quickly and excuse myself before I can make another huge mistake.

I leave Peeta at the fire pit and head off to the ladies’ room. Things are getting too intense if I’m really asking him if he has a girlfriend.

The restrooms are configured so that the women’s and men’s doors are across from one another and in a very small hallway. I use the facilities and splash some water on my face. I come out of the ladies’ room at the same time that Peeta exits the men’s room.

“Oof, oh. Hey,” I squeak, staring into his eyes. Our bodies are squeezed together in this tight space, our lips a mere inch apart. I can feel his breath on my neck. I know my eyes are locked to his lips. They are ripe for the taking. His broad chest feels like home, and I catch myself sinking into it just a moment before the absurdity of it hits me. He’s leaving. I’ll never see him again. Wait. I’ll never see him again. I could give into this feeling building all day and get it out of my system. I feel a flicker of hope rising up in me. 

“I’m sorry. Here, you go first,” he says with his eyes trained on my lips. I blink, relieved he can’t read my thoughts. I do want to kiss him, but then I’d just be using him and he doesn’t deserve that. I turn away and it feels like we are being torn apart.

We return to our fireside seats and find that another pair has taken them over. Leaning on the railing, he catches me in a small yawn.

“You know, I’m usually asleep by now to get ready for the next day’s charter, but since I’m not booked for the next day – I stayed up past my bedtime, “ I admit. “On charter days, I have to be at the shrimper by 3:45am to get the live croaker,” I boast. 

“Really? You’ve been up since that early?” he asks.

A feel a sheepish smile spread across my face with a nod and I stifle another yawn.

“You best get to bed then. I’m sorry to have kept you up. I’d like to walk you home, if that’s all right. Just to make sure you get there okay,’” he offers.

“Peeta, it’s just across the street,” I start. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, can I see you again?” he asks simply. But it’s not simple. I know he’s leaving, since his brothers yammered on about their schedule all day. My internal debate wages on while the seconds tick by and I decide on the best response. 

“It’s a small town, see if you can find me,” I land on, finally. I look coolly into his blue eyes. “Enjoy the rest of your stay in District 4,” I manage as a dismissal before turning and running home.

I get home and reel through the day’s scenes in my head. He’s only here for a short time. Don’t get involved. He’s hot and sweet and cute but no, Katniss no. You don’t need another puppy dog eyed boy in your path of destruction, like the one you left at home.

Peeta

Mainly because we were all expecting Captain Finnick Odair to be operating the charter, I was thrilled nonetheless to attach a name to that lovely voice.

I mentally slapped myself for even saying so aloud when I met Katniss, but I don’t think she heard me—or didn’t inquire further if she did. I should have known they town would be small enough to find her again, but after watching the beach all day, I had lost a little hope. I’ve noticed just about every woman in the years since my accident, but none of them made a lasting impression. Katniss stood out to me and I want to do things differently than I have in the past, to avoid mistakes and heartache down the line.

Today she’s wearing tiny shorts, a t-shirt, and wading boots in the surf, a change from the cargo shorts and a fishing shirt with a tank top underneath yesterday. Even after Rye’s crude remark, I can say that the tomboy look fit her quite well. I listened to her fishing instructions and tried to process them but visions of her shirt riding up in the wind, whipping and fluttering about her stomach and lower back danced through my mind instead.

Before yesterday, she was just a voice. Now, she’s so much more after hearing her story. She’s a woman that changed her direction and had made something of herself in a completely new environment. She’s a woman I almost kissed and I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m a goner for this woman, hook, line, and sinker.

I know to look for her at dawn, since she won’t already be out on the water. Her dismissal felt off last night, and I want a chance to talk to her more without my asshole brothers around. There was chemistry there, after only a day together on the water. I want to see if it was real. I’m also a little concerned about my competition against Finnick, because to hear her describe it, they are a great team and I wonder if there isn’t something more there.

I finish putting my prosthetic leg on and dress. I don’t want to miss her but also don’t want to come off like a crazy stalker. I do need to act fast, though, since my time here is dwindling. I slide open the back door of the rental and spy her silhouette on the beach.

I get as close as I can without intruding, and announce my presence.

“Hey,” I start and she spins around in an instant.

“Hey, you found me,” she returns with a smile.

“There isn’t anyone else I’d rather get away with,” I continue from last night, “if you were still wondering.”

“Oh,” she says, coming closer to me and chewing on her bottom lip again. “I didn’t see you coming.”

“Is this your favorite spot? My rental is just up there,” I motion with my thumb. “I actually saw you here the other morning, so it was a real jolt when I met you yesterday,” I explain.

“Oh,” she repeats, softer this time with a knowing smile.

“Do you have a boyfriend, because it kind of seemed like you and Finnick are more than business partners–the way you were talking about him last night,” I ask with hesitation.

“Finnick and me? No way. He’s a total peacock anyway,” she scoffs and drops her eyelids to do a sultry impression of her partner. “‘Tell me all your secrets…’ he coos to his conquests,” she mimics.

“Ugh, Not really,” I laugh.

“No, really. He’s a legend but I’m not attracted to him. The closest I’ve been to kissing anyone here was CPR training with Finnick, and that’s not really boyfriend material, is it?” she notes.

“No, I guess not. You just sounded so fond of him,” I muster and start to think that the odds might be in my favor after all.

“Oh, I am—but not in that way. He’s more like a brother to me. And our competitive nature makes us both good guides,” she offers.

This is good, this is my opportunity. I’m drawn to this woman and I want to see if she feels it too before I have to leave her.

“Look, I’d like another shot. At fishing—I mean, before we leave. Do you have time today?” I ask, “To go back out on the water?”

She seems to ponder the invitation by chewing on her lip and I’m about to protest when she finally speaks. “It’s too late to go now for the good fishing, but we could go at sunset,” she says.

“Okay great, I’ll meet you at the shop then, across from the marina?” I ask, hope renewed.

“Sounds good,” she confirms.

“Good, great. That gives me time to go into town to check out the galleries,” I say, mostly to myself and start walking away to let her fish in peace on the beach.

“Hey, Peeta,” she yells as I turn back towards my rental. “Eat a big lunch, since we’ll be out on the water at dinnertime.”

And it strikes me that maybe she wants this as much as I do.

Katniss

I give Finnick a call while I prep for the evening charter on Sunday afternoon.

“I’ve never done one before, so I need your help. What are the best night fishing spots? What bait should I use?” I ramble, attempting to disguise any anxieties about tonight.

“Wait, what is this light in your voice? Have you even scowled today?” Finnick jabs.

“What? Yes, I’m scowling now, smartass,” I return.

“Well, we didn’t have anyone booked, so who are you taking?” he inquires.

“Someone,” I say. I can almost hear his clever fingers toying with a knot on the other end of the line, trying to figure out what’s happening back here.

“Someone…. someone who was on the boat yesterday?” he guesses.

Damn, he’s good. “Maybe,” I supply. 

“This night charter….is he someone you’d want to kiss?” he snickers.

In the time that I flash to last night, when my lips were a breath away from Peeta’s, my silence betrays me and he whoops on the other end of the line. I bring my fingertips to my lips just to be sure I didn’t remember that part wrong.

“Use the plastics then, don’t want your hands getting all fishy anyway…” he suggests once he recovers.

“What? Why?” I stutter.

“So neither one of you has fresh bait on your hands when you’re fishing in each other’s pants! Believe me, it’s a total boner killer,” he laughs.

“Finnick!” I exclaim.

“What are you planning on wearing tonight?” he asks.

“I’ve borrowed your Halloween costume from last year with the gold net and strategic knots,” I lie.

“Good thinking. Subtle,” he says. “You’d be absolutely terrifying in your regular clothes and definitely are not going to get laid in those cargo shorts. Find you a pretty girl dress to wear in Effie’s shop on Main that will still allow you to steer the boat and give your beau a view,” he says.

“I’m going to pretend that you are not giving me wardrobe or relationship advice. Where should I take him?” I ask and look down at the only other tank dress I own, this one in green, and my deck shoes. I do have my hair down in soft waves, so there’s a modicum of effort in my appearance. I might even put on chapstick if there’s time.

“You mean besides Fuck Town?” he states.

“FINNICK!” I scream into the phone.

“Uhhh, maybe Victor’s Cove? There’s good night fishing there and it’s pretty secluded. Check the map to get you there. Not many people know about it,” he advises.

“I’m not even going to ask how you know about it,” I say.

“Oh, and Katniss, don’t forget the other plastics,” he suggests.

“What????”

“There may be some in the console cabinet, but you may want to stock up in case those are old,” he says.

“But I thought that the number-one rule was….” I lead.

“Oh what? I can’t hear you…..are you there?” he garbles, making snowy reception noises before ending the call and I’m left to wonder why there’s a rule in place at all.

Luckily, Peeta chooses this moment to walk into the shop. A few minutes earlier and he would have had an earful.

“Are you all set?” he asks and I turn to gape at him. He’s dressed head-to-toe preppy again. Orange shorts today, his prosthetic leg out on display and I’m glad that he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. He’s wearing a gingham shirt and damn if he didn’t roll up the sleeves to his forearms. He looks like a billboard and yet he’s here to be with me under a weak pretense of fishing. 

“Yeah…” I manage, and pull myself together.

He helps me load gear and water on the boat. Out on the bay, I navigate to Victor’s Cove from our sea chart. Once we arrive, I understand what Finnick meant by secluded. Blue water, late afternoon sun beating down on us, pink sky, and an island in the middle. The beach is rimmed with a thick wall of vegetation and any houses that I can see sit up high on the cliffs. There won’t be too many prying eyes on the water. 

I get out the plastic lures and he gives me a side eye.

“What? Finnick suggested it,” I say, defending the choice in lures.

“What else did Finnick recommend?” Peeta asks with angelic curiosity, even batting his golden eyelashes at me innocently.

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know? A guide never shares their secrets or they’d be out of a job!” I jest. “Let’s get you casting,” I say and grab the rod for another lesson.

We talk; he gets me to open up about what I like about being on the water, and my partnership with Finnick, all the while maintaining eye contact with me. I’ve redirected him to look at the water several times now, but it’s almost as if he can’t keep from staring at me. We’re anchored on the back side of the small island, shielded from any curious onlookers and there’s not another boat on the water.

“Do you have any siblings back home?” he asks, steering me straight out of my comfort zone.

“I have a sister, but she’s finishing up college. Her name is Prim and she visits me here, or I go to her school,” I explain, keeping the replies to a minimum.

“You don’t ever go home?” he presses.

“No….I left and I haven’t been back home since I landed here. A relationship ended poorly there, like epic failure bad and I haven’t wanted to try again,” I state.

“Oh,” he says quietly.

“It’s not like that, I mean—it has been, but at the same time, I’ve just wanted a few years for myself,” I describe. “I had a lot responsibilities back home and people that I owed for their help. The line became blurry between what was owed and what I wanted, so I left,” I finish.

“So now you’re now swearing off all men?” he asks and nudges me in the elbow.

“Naw, just ones that insult me the first time they meet me,” I laugh.

“Ah, good thing I’m not Rye, then,” he returns.

“Good thing,” I say as we return to our attempt at night fishing. 

After the third brush of our arms, I’ve decided that there’s altogether too much accidental, not really accidental touching going on here. I give into it and wrap my arms around him from behind to help him cast one last time. He leans back into me and it feels so impossibly good, I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? There’s something about Peeta that makes me feel safe and warm, and I don’t want to release that feeling, not yet at least.

I guide his shoulders into the cast and he lets go at the perfect time. There’s just enough light on the water to see the line disappear into the murky depths beneath us. I remind him to watch that spot and before too long, he’s tensing up and reeling in something. His eyes flash at me in excitement and I know he’s got something on the line.

He reels in a speckled trout, technically large enough to keep but he doesn’t want to. He holds onto to it long enough to take quick photo for his brothers and releases it back into the water with a flick of the pliers. 

I turn around to bait him again, but he’s put the rod down and is looking intently at me.

“Katniss,” he starts, “you told me to fix my eyes on the water, but I’d rather fix my eyes on you,” he utters, his cobalt irises stuck on mine.

“On me?” I ask in disbelief.

“Surely you must see that you’ve hooked me,” he says, grinning at his own joke and then pausing at the weight of his admissions.

After denying myself the kiss I wanted yesterday, I lean into him until our noses barely touching. I press my lips on his before I start overthinking this. He immediately slides his hand into my hair to keep our lips together and deepen the kiss. Something stirs deep inside me and I want more. I open my mouth and the mere touch of his tongue to mine has me reeling and losing my footing.

We stumble backwards until I’m pressed up against the side of the center console. I kiss him like there’s no tomorrow, because really there isn’t one with him. He tastes of sea spray and cinnamon. He pushes me into the console as much as I’m pulling on him. This sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads through my limbs. His strong, steady body is easy to cling to and I raise her leg to wrap around him – pulling his hips closer to me. One of his hands slips from my head to keep my leg in place on his hip. I feel his response to our kisses as well. Instead of satisfying me, these kisses have the opposite effect, and I want more from Peeta. I want to feel him, fully.

I turn and shift our entwined bodies so that he falls gently on the seat in front of the console. I don’t know where this leading quite yet, I only know that I want more. I straddle him and resume kissing him wherever I can: his lips, his eyes, his jaw, and his neck. He grapples with my hips as I start to rock on top of him, dragging my soft parts against his hardness.

“Katniss,” he makes out in slow hiss, “can I touch you?”

And that’s why we don’t have live bait tonight, I think to myself, eager for his touch.

Since I’ve proven to be no good at words, I yield to his request by spreading my palms against his chest and nibbling on his ear, inching my fingers down to his belt. I’ve decided. I want all of him. I’m going to give into this temptation, gorge on it—he’ll be gone tomorrow anyway. I can’t afford to consider more.

My hands dive to his belt to unbutton his shorts and he swears under his breath.

“Please, let me touch you,” he begs.

I give the smallest nod and his hands land on my breasts and then lower eventually. We explore each other’s extremities and depths. His shorts are completely undone and my panties have long been situated correctly, I think they’re actually in his pocket with my bra. That happened somewhere between orgasm one and two. My hands smell of his skin and I want to keep that scent. It makes me hungry for more. 

Peeta slouches down in seat in front of the center console and spreads his legs slightly. I stand to reach up and over the console windshield to look in the cabinet Finnick mentioned. I’ve never sought out treasure in this particular place before. I fish around until I feel a familiar foil packet and bring it back to Peeta. I can just make out the date on the gold wrapping and smile up at him with the recovered booty.

I blush and clear my throat. “Finnick also recommended these plastics,” I say.

“Lucky for us, they’re just my size,” he boasts and catches me in another series of hard kisses that have me melting back into him. He rubs circles into my shoulders and puts me at ease. He takes the wrapper from me and opens it, then leans back to put it on himself, allowing me to see all of him in what light the moon provides. He rolls the condom down his length but his eyes never leave mine, almost like I’ll disappear if he blinks.

I sit on his lap and face him full on, pulling my knees up to rest against the sides of his chest. It’s the best I can manage, given the options on this boat. My feet are braced against the seat and my shins press into the sides of his torso. Together, we guide him into me and I release a loud groan as I sink lower onto him.

“Katniss, talk to me,” he begs, “tell me this is what you want,” he utters once he’s completely sheathed within me.

“I want you,” I say and it’s all the clearance he needs to guide my hips.

While Peeta alternates in gripping my hips and ass, I clutch the sides of the console and begin rising and falling on his shaft. The dress I kept on flutters in the breeze as I ride him.

We’re still pressed close enough for us to stay latched in an endless kiss as our bodies meet again and again. 

With my legs caging him to the back of the chair and my feet using the seat as a springboard, it’s surprisingly easy to bounce on him. It’s almost teasing to him with this action, and then I shift my hips just a little to rock onto him with wide circular motions, feeling him from every exquisite angle. His breathing goes absolutely ragged when I slow my arcs down to widen my legs, letting the backs of my thighs graze his chest. His grip loosens on my ass to hone in the spot he’s found already twice before to finish me. With only a few flicks my body instinctively convulses and brings him over the edge with me.

We press our sweaty foreheads together as the undulating waves of satisfaction roll over us.

I start to giggle.

“Was something funny?” he asks warily as my giggles expand into full belly laughs.

“Oh, well, it’s just those songs your brother wouldn’t stop singing and us,” I explain, still trying to swallow my laughter. “We’re a mash up of "I’m on a boat” and “I just had sex” because you know, we just had sex on a boat,” I say and know immediately that I’m blushing.

He flinches, increasing the space between us.

“Isn’t it funny?” I ask, concerned that my bad attempt at humoring the moment has offended him.

“Ah, yes. It’s just that when you laugh, your muscles constrict around me and well…I’m still super sensitive,” he admits which sends me into a second fit of laughter.

“Like that?” I ask with a seductive tone and clench around him some more.

“And it felt so good….on a boat” he quips and we collapse on each other again in laughter.

“First time for everything, I guess,” he says and I swell with pride, knowing we’ve done something, somewhere, together that he hasn’t done with anyone else.

“Me too,” and his eyebrows shoot to his hairline, “on a boat,” I clarify.

“Oh, okay,” he smiles.

With our movements, I can feel him start to slip out of me.

“Um… I don’t want to litter, where should I put this?” he asks, nodding towards the used condom.

I ease off of him and he disposes of the condom in a trash bag stowed in the front compartments. He offers my panties, and holds on to them as I grasp them so that they snap back at me. He must be feeling better about all of this if his playful side has fully returned too. 

“So we’re okay, then?” I ask, hopeful that I haven’t ruined this.

“Well actually, I was wondering how much you knew about District 13, and if you’d like a guide?” he asks or more, invites.

He wants to see me again; this isn’t a one-time thing for him. The thought rockets through my entire body as I consider the consequences. I’d have to drive through District 12 to get to 13, and as much as I do not want to return home, I would do it to see him again.

I fumble for words and settle on humor again, “Wouldn’t I need Hunter or Bean boots for camouflage up there?” I say. “I’m not really preppy material.”

“Nah, I’d be able to outfit you in appropriate attire to blend in with locals,” he promises. “Besides…for me, you’re perfect.”

THE END.


	2. Bean Boots Christmas Outtake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss visits her long-distance boyfriend in District 13 after Christmas. They weren't supposed to exchange gifts but Peeta couldn't resist finding her something preppy—and practical.

**Katniss**

 

As my plane glides down beneath the clouds, I’m shocked by how much snow is on the ground. After a few years on the coast, it’s been easy to forget just how much of it there is in the winter Up North. I look over to the sea of traffic approaching and receding from the airport. Peeta is out there somewhere, headed to pick me up this afternoon. 

 

This is my second visit to see Peeta. My first visit was a blur of beautiful countryside and sex. Peeta had taken us out to fish in a lake near his town, redeeming himself with several catches compared to his performance on the bay. Every time we left his apartment for touristy stuff, we found ourselves sneaking away for some privacy, so we eventually gave up and stayed in his apartment. He's even come back to District 4 to stay with me for a long weekend the other month. 

 

After the awkward pauses of the early visits since we’d met last summer had subsided, we have grown from the initial connection into something more substantial. We keep finding unconventional places to reacquaint our bodies, his truck, the boathouse, and the woods. We text throughout the week and call each other when we can, trying to make this long distance thing work. It's been good to balance this relationship from the shaky foundation on the boat to the firm ground I’ve landed on in District 13. The distance allowed for us to talk through the deep stuff, like favorite colors. I remind myself often that I first saw him as a catch-and-release, but he feels more like a keeper now. I never saw myself as a long distance relationship person but Peeta inspires me to work for it. It seems to suit my nature and allows me to focus on work at home.

 

The flight attendant calls for us to retrieve our luggage from the overhead compartments and then it’s a race to get to Peeta. I text him to let him know I’ve landed while I shuffle through the crowds.

 

It's colder than I thought it would be once outside at passenger pick up. There’s no humid air to absorb the cold. I didn’t pack bulky outer layers since I had actually planned on spending most of my visit tangled in Peeta’s plaid flannel sheets. 

 

I spot Peeta’s truck and move towards it. His head pops out of the driver’s side, those blond curls tucked up under a dark beanie. We wave as I make my way to him. 

 

He clutches me to him and kisses me, his lips warming me from the inside. It’s been too long.

 

“Hey, you’re shivering,” he says, his nose rubbing against mine.

 

“Kiss me again and it’ll stop!” I huff and he obeys. I open my mouth to him to allow for a proper greeting in below freezing temperatures. His tongue is a welcome hot coal in my mouth, stroking the fire in me back to life.

 

“I think I'm wearing nearly every layer I brought but my toes are freezing,” I note as we buckle up for the short drive to his apartment. 

 

“I might have an old down jacket you can wear while you’re here. A cold front blew through this morning and it’s much colder than when I left my parents’ home,” he says.

 

“And how did that go?” I ask.

 

“About what I expected. Rye drank too much, mom complained too much, while dad and Bran stayed quiet,” he relays. “How was Prim?”  

 

“Good, school is good for her, it was nice for it to be just the two of us for the holiday since mom was working,” I say, my mind wandering back to the few days with Prim.

 

“Did she like her gift?” he asks.

 

“Yes, she  _ allowed _ me to get her a present this year,” I add for emphasis. “None of this ‘no-gift’ Christmas,” I say in mild frustration.

 

“Katniss….,” he starts and reaches over to wrap an arm around me, “All I want is you. Just...time with each other for the holiday anyway,” he finishes. 

 

I had halfway considered using his brothers’ contact numbers that had been provided last summer for gift ideas but quickly dismissed that idea for sheer awkwardness. So instead, I bought my ticket to fly up here directly after Christmas with Prim in District 4, empty-handed. 

 

I barely register that his Charlie Brown Christmas tree survived the last three days while he was at his family's home as we rush to undress once inside his apartment.

 

After a round of I’ve-missed-you-sex all over his bed, we rest. We'll have time to be more creative later. I've just about caught my breath when he gets out of bed and digs something out of his closet. 

 

Peeta approaches cautiously me with a large box wrapped in gorgeous paper. 

 

“Surprise!” he says with a sheepish grin.

 

“Peeta! We promised! You know I didn't bring you a gift!” I protest. 

 

“I know, I know, but I think you'll need this for your visit and they're your favorite color. Consider it an early birthday present instead,” he offers, knowing that’s more than five months away.

 

“I’ll just have to owe you. I’ll never stop owing you,” I mumble. I open the box with reluctance, prying the folds of the paper apart one by one. 

 

My slow pace of opening the gift is ironic compared to the frenzy earlier. It's mostly to antagonize him, for getting me a gift when I have none to offer him. Peeling away the last of the tape, I lift the lid to reveal a pair of hunter green duck boots with tumbled leather uppers. I gasp, “Peeta!” 

 

“Do you like them?” he asks. “I know we made a joke of it that first time on the boat, if you needed Bean or Hunter boots to wear up here but these are more useful anyway,” he says pointedly.

 

I nod along and admire the hand stitching more closely. 

 

“You also didn't bring proper footwear to insulate against the snow and cold on this trip so, in essence, you’ll die without these,” he rationalizes in mock seriousness.

 

He catches my scowl for that logic before I return my attention to my new boots.

 

“Besides, these will also do better than your regular waders for any cold days in the coastal woods—that’s why I didn’t get you the shearling lined pair,” he theorizes.

 

I nod along and plot in my mind what I could possibly do to show him how much I appreciate the thoughtfulness of his gift. I’m lost in thought when he taps my shoulder. 

 

“Hey, it could be worse. Rye told me to cut a hole in a box….” Peeta laughs, only he's probably not joking, I'm sure Rye reminded him of all three steps.

 

“Finnick is just as bad as Rye then, he told me to remember to pack my plastics,” I recount, turning to face him. Peeta blushes ear to ear, since we've long since stopped used condoms. Really since my first visit when we shared our clean tests and committed to this relationship. 

 

“He did help me with your boot size, at least. He checked your waders for me when you weren't looking,” he says.

 

“Well, I promise to think of a way to make it up to you,” I say. 

 

“I just want to see you in them, see you enjoy them while you’re here and then back at home,” he hints and offers to start a fire.

 

We agree to disagree for the time being and prepare dinner together. While we eat I listen for clues about where I could take him to buy a gift, but he has everything tangible he wants. I take note of the way he's made his apartment a home with the details so intrinsically him. Somewhere near the last delicious bite of steak, I've figured it out. I’ve concocted a way to repay this surprise gift debt, and give him a real, unforgettable memory.

 

We finish our meal and Peeta takes the dishes to his sink. I excuse myself while Peeta finishes up in the kitchen.

 

**Peeta**

 

“So I thought maybe we'd try ice skating tomorrow,” I call to her from the kitchen. “It's been a few years for me, but I might be able to manage, with you there to steady me.” I look up from the sink to find her leaning against the bedroom door. 

 

Katniss has emerged in his one of my tartan flannel shirts and her new boots, laced and halfway up her toned calves, the green rubber and tan leather illuminated by the twinkling lights on the tree and fireglow.

 

My heart stops and I nearly drop the plates. She’s beautiful every single day, though something about this particular ensemble is my favorite. She's even loosened her braid, so that the raven strands are kinked at the ends. My eyes linger over her form long enough to observe that there's nothing underneath my shirt. 

 

“Merry Christmas Peeta, I love my boots,” she says while reaching down to trace the leather edge against her flesh.

 

I rush over to wrap my hands around her rib cage and lift her up, crushing my lips to hers as she wraps her legs around my waist. Our lips remain locked as my palms skim her olive thighs, still holding their summer color. The rubber heels of her boots dig into the small of my back to hold her tight to me. 

 

“Merry Christmas Katniss,” I manage between kisses.

 

I carry her to the braided rug between the tree and the fire, stretching her out of the soft wool. I find a pillow and toss it down for her head. I rejoin her for more kisses, deep kisses, light kisses, whisper kisses, and bruising kisses. I can't kiss her enough to show her how much I appreciate her ingenuity and my surprise. My kisses that have started on her cheeks and lips travel down to her throat, reaching the collar of my shirt. I start unbuttoning it, kissing each new inch of exposed flesh. I claim each of her breasts with my mouth and palms. I flick my tongue out on her nipples and she arches her back. I clamp my palms down on her writhing body beneath me. 

 

I continue blazing a trail down to the last button to reveal her navel. I rise up and remove my own shirt, desperate to feel her skin slide against mine. I hitch her legs over my shoulders, the boots landing with a resounding thud on my upper back. I inhale her sex. I lick her outer folds until she's trembling, begging me for more. I massage her clit with the tip of my tongue before sucking on it without regard to the noises either one of us are making. I lean on one arm to explore her folds with my other hand, stroking and pulsing my fingers where she's waiting for me. She tilts her pelvis toward me eagerly but I'm not done yet. I send two fingers inside her to match the rhythm I've set on the outside with my mouth. Her keens reach my ears right as she tugs on my hair, and I know she's on the edge. I curl the tips of my fingers deep inside and latch onto her clit to overload her senses. Her body reacts immediately, tensing and spasming all around me. I hold on tight to let her ride out the rest of her orgasm. When her hips lay completely still, she brings her palm to her forehead.

 

“Damn,” she mutters.

 

I cock my head to the side to catch her line of sight, “Is something wrong?”

 

“No....this well, this was supposed to be a present for you,” she explains. “And that felt pretty damn spectacular for me.”

 

“Oh....it is. I’m having my way with my girlfriend,” I return.

 

“Well you would have had that anyway,” she teases.

 

“But now I have the marks to remember it by,” I say and motion my thumb to her boot scratches down my back.

 

“Well c’mere then, let's make some more,” she says,

 

I unbutton my waistband and she uses her boots to scrape my pants down my legs. She stops just short of my knee to gently pull my jeans further down my legs, careful not to hang up any material on it. 

 

Once free of my trappings, I advance upon her. I've been hard since she appeared in the doorway, her moans only intensifying my want for her. I sink into her waiting heat, finding my home. She hooks her legs around my waist again, with the heel of her boots spurring me on. I bury my nose into the curve of her neck, vaguely noting that my shirt now smells like her as I move in and out of her. 

 

Every bit of me is anchored to her, from her nails clawing into my shoulders, her heels on my ass, and her inner walls gripping my cock. I try to slow down, so that we can both feel every pass, but she only grips me harder to return my body into hers. Our hips move in sync, my cock grazing her clit as I pull out and then plummet again into her tight pussy in one fluid motion.

 

“Peeta, I'm coming again,” she calls and I can feel her quaking around me, her feet stuttering to the floor. I pull all the way out and thrust back into her iron grip, every bit of me constricted by her walls until I let go too in a muffled groan against her throat. I slump to the floor next to her to catch my breath.

 

I drag a blanket down from the couch to toss over us as our hearts slow from the pounding beats to a calming lub dub.

 

“I'll wear my boots every damn day if you'll fuck me like that,” she says. 

 

“So it's really a gift for the both of us,” I spin, still trying to get her to accept this gift without any strings, “but you're welcome to try on more of my clothes. I can point you towards a fair isle sweater or two….”

 

**the end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started out wanting to write holiday outtakes for several fics though this is the one that flowed the most. Many thanks to Areyouserial for plotting support, Notanislander for preppy knowledge and inspirational posts, Papofglencoe for editing powers, and Suzanne Collins for her characters. Honorable mention to L.L. Bean products.


End file.
